“It’s from a Hyksos lance,” said Simeon. “They invaded Egypt seventeen hundred years before Christ and formed the Fifteenth Dynasty.”
“You read that somewhere?” asked Louis.
“No, Mr. Hoyle read it somewhere. He was kind enough to share the knowledge with me, and now I’m passing it on to you.”
“Interesting. You should run tours.” Louis turned to Simeon. “You work for him long?”
“Long enough.”
“That could be taken two ways.”
“Guess so.”
“Where did you serve?”
“What makes you think I’m ex-military?”
“I have good eyes.”
Simeon considered his reply. “Marines.”
“Let me guess: Recon.”
“No. Antiterrorist, out of Norfolk.”
Antiterrorist: that meant FAST, the Marines’ Fleet Antiterrorist Security Team, formed at the end of the 1980s to provide additional short-term protection when the threat was beyond the capabilities of the usual security forces. Simeon would have been trained in threat assessment, the preparation of security plans, guarding VIPs protection. Despite himself, Louis was impressed.
“This must make a pleasant change for you,” said Angel, joining them. “Now you don’t have to lift anything heavier than a wand.” He smiled guilelessly. “It’s like being a fairy godfather.”
Louis had moved on to what appeared to be a dagger and ax combined, with a vicious triangular blade.
“That’s a ko dagger-ax.” Another man had entered the room from a door to the right. He had a full head of silver hair, neatly trimmed, and wore a long-sleeved red polo shirt and tan chinos. His shoes were brown penny loafers, scuffed and comfortable. He was lightly tanned. When he smiled, he revealed teeth that were slightly uneven, and not excessively white. His blue eyes were magnified behind the lenses of his glasses. Whatever else he was, he did not appear to be vain, or had ceased to make the more obvious concessions to vanity. The only peculiar aspect of his appearance was the pair of white gloves that covered his hands. “I’m Nicholas Hoyle. Welcome, gentlemen, welcome.”
He joined Louis at the shelf, clearly enjoying the opportunity to show off his collection. “Eleventh or tenth century B.C.,” he continued, lifting the weapon so Louis could examine it more closely. “They were all the rage in Pa-Shu during the Eastern Chou, but that one originated in Shansi.”
He replaced the ax and moved on. “This item is interesting.” He carefully moved a curved dagger from its plinth. “It’s late Shang, thirteenth to twelfth century B.C. See, there’s a rattle at the end of its hilt.” He shook the blade gently. “Not for silent killing, I imagine.”
Finally, he moved on to a crude-looking ax that stood on a shelf of its own. “This is one of the oldest weapons I own,” he said. “Hungshan, from the Liao river region of northeast China. Neolithic. Three thousand years old, at least, perhaps even four thousand or more. Here, take it.”
He handed the ax to Louis. Behind him, Angel saw Simeon stiffen slightly. Even after all these years, the ax was clearly capable of inflicting damage. It looked much more recent than it was, a testament to the skill that had gone into its construction. Louis saw that the top of the ax head had been carved to resemble an eagle. He ran the tip of his index finger along the carving.
“It’s religious in nature,” said Hoyle. “The first messenger from the Celestial Ruler was believed to have been a bird. Eagles were believed to transmit human wishes to the gods; in this case, one presumes, the death of an enemy.”
“It’s an impressive collection,” said Louis, returning the ax to him.
“I began collecting when I was a boy,” said Hoyle. “I started with minié balls gathered from the Kennesaw Mountain Battlefield. My father was a Civil War aficionado and liked to take us on battlefield vacations. My mother, I seem to recall, was generally unimpressed. I even created my own mix of tallow and beeswax to lubricate them, just like the soldiers did to prevent bore fouling from black powder residue. Otherwise-”
“They’d stick in the barrel,” Louis finished. “I know. I used to collect them myself.”
“And where was that?” asked Hoyle.
“Doesn’t matter,” said Louis. “It was a long time ago.”
“Well,” said Hoyle. He seemed embarrassed that he had overstepped some mark with Louis by asking about his past. It wasn’t a situation with which he appeared to be familiar. To hide his discomfort, he indicated a pair of armchairs and twin couches surrounding a low redwood table. Louis took one of the chairs, Hoyle another, while Angel sat on a couch. Alcohol was offered, but Angel and Louis declined. Instead, green tea was served, and some Japanese candies that stuck to Angel’s teeth and filled his mouth with a taste of lemon and horseradish that was not unpleasant, merely peculiar.
“You’ll forgive me for not shaking hands,” said Hoyle. He managed the neat trick of making it sound like a request, a favor granted by another even if the decision had been entirely his own. “Even with my gloves on, I tend to be cautious about such matters. The human hand is home to both resident and transient bacteria, a veritable cesspool of germs, but it is the transients of whom we must be most acutely aware. My immune system is not what it once was-a congenital weakness-and now I no longer venture beyond these walls. Nevertheless, I remain in good health, but precautions must be taken, particularly where visitors are concerned. I hope you’re not offended.”
Neither Angel nor Louis looked offended. Louis remained impassive. Angel appeared bewildered. He glanced discreetly at his hands. They looked clean, but he knew what a cesspool was. He sipped some green tea. It didn’t taste of very much at all. He considered using it to wash his hands.
“I hear you’ve been having difficulties,” said Hoyle. He addressed his comments to Louis alone. Angel was used to such behavior. It didn’t trouble him. It meant that, in the event of a problem, he usually had an advantage over those, like Simeon and his master, who had underestimated him.
“You seem to be well informed,” said Louis.
“I make it my business to be,” replied Hoyle. “In this case, your interests and mine appear to have coincided. I know who sent those men to your home and the business premises in Queens. I know why they were sent. I also know that the situation is likely to deteriorate further unless you act promptly.”
Louis waited.
“In 1983,” Hoyle continued, “you killed a man named Luther Berger. He was shot in the back of the head at close range as he left a business meeting in San Antonio. You were paid fifty thousand dollars for the hit. It was good money, in those days, even split with the driver of your getaway vehicle. In keeping with protocol, you didn’t ask why Berger had been targeted.
“Unfortunately, though, his name wasn’t really Luther Berger. He was Jon Leehagen, or ‘Jonny Lee’ as he was sometimes called. His father is a man named Arthur Leehagen. Arthur Leehagen did not take kindly to the killing of his older son. He has spent a very long time trying to find out who was behind his murder. In the last twelve months, he has made considerable progress. The man who hired you through Gabriel-his name was Ballantine, incidentally, although you never met him-died a week ago. He was taken to Leehagen’s property, killed, and his remains fed to hogs. Leehagen has also been able to establish your identity, and the identity of the driver of the vehicle that removed you from the scene. I believe he was known to you as Billy Boy. He, like Ballantine, has since been killed: stabbed in a restroom, as I understand it, although you may know more about the circumstances than I do.
“The men who attacked your home and the auto shop in Queens were sent by Leehagen. More will follow. I don’t doubt that you’re capable of handling most of them, but, rather like terrorists, they only have to get lucky once, while you will have to be both lucky, and proficient, all of the time. I also imagine that you would prefer not to have any more attention drawn to yourself or your business operations than is absolutely necessary. Therefore, it is incumbent upon you to act sooner rather than later.”